


Sheltered

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: It’s so quiet, with the pale light and no sound from outside, no danger, no need to hurry.





	

Max is asleep when Furiosa comes to bed. He’d got back early that afternoon, after a trip around settlements beyond Gastown. The wasteland is fairly quiet just now, settling into a new balance of power. It wasn’t until his way back that he got into trouble, driving all night through Buzzard territory. 

It’s always a question, whether to roar through fast or go more quietly, taking longer. Choosing the former, he’d tangled with a couple of crews and left several large explosions behind him. He’d got away with little more than scorch marks, rolling up to the Citadel on the last of the adrenaline. As soon as he had told Furiosa what he’d found out, knowing she could report to the council, he had cleaned up and fallen into bed. 

He stirs when she opens the door, vaguely aware of movement.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “Go back to sleep.” He mumbles and drifts off, soon deeply asleep again.

When he wakes properly, it’s only just dawn. Furiosa is curled up beside him, a blanketed shape in the low, grey light. Max knows he won’t fall asleep again now: he’s wide awake, ready to move. His bad knee is aching, a reaction from long days of driving. He slides out of bed, careful not to disturb her. Still in his night clothes, he steps out into the corridor to work on his leg, locking the door behind him, his key on a string hooked into his bracelet. He’s not planning to go anywhere in particular, but he won’t leave her asleep behind an unsecured door.

He’s on his second set of stretches when he hears a step in the corridor.

“Morning, Max.” It’s Gilly, one of the Vuvalini. He nods to her.

“Can’t sleep?” 

“Still not used to indoors,” she admits, shrugging. “But I like this place best in the early morning. Quiet.” Max hums in sympathy. “Coming down for breakfast? It won’t be busy yet, not for another hour or two.” Max looks down at his bare feet, shakes his head. She grins at him. “Could bring you some? I’ll be taking mine up to the gardens, it’s no trouble.” 

He thanks her, watches her leave before starting back on his knee. He knows she’s been leading scouting expeditions, spending more time away. There’s been excitement over an oasis she and Toast discovered, a possible outpost; last he heard, they were trying to plant there. He wonders if Gilly will base herself there, a halfway house to the desert. And he wonders if Furiosa would ever do something like that, if she’d let her ties of duty to the Citadel loosen.

He’s finished his knee exercises by the time Gilly comes back. She’s brought him a full tray: bowls of the usual vegetable mash, but there are two peaches, and what looks like a pastry with meat and greens.

“It’s an experiment, from the grain crop,” Gilly explains. He suspects it’s a perk for being up so early. He thanks her, watches her take her own plate and head for the gardens before turning back to Furiosa’s room.

He opens the door quietly, not wanting to wake her, and stops dead. Furiosa has turned over into his side of the bed, her face in his pillow and the sheet pushed down. She had slept naked. He can see her bare back, the rounded lines of her bum, of her thighs, with the darker curve of her cunt visible between them. The sun is up now, filling the room with soft, pale light. It shows up her scars, highlighting supple muscles and a glint of fine hair. Her body is relaxed in sleep, powerful and serene. She is so beautiful that all he can do is stare.

He’s almost shocked by how trusting she is, lying sprawled on her side with her back to the door. A rush of want goes through him, heated and urgent. He puts the food down on the desk and turns to lock the door, a precaution he should have taken already. His fingers are clumsy, letting the bar thump as he pulls it down. 

When he turns round, Furiosa is stirring, woken but not startled by the noise. She looks over her shoulder, smiling sleepily at him, dimples showing. Max pulls off his night clothes before slipping back in behind her.

He gets out of the habit of nakedness, of bare skin. He slides his hand up her back, over her side. The sound she makes is drowsy but pleased, so he moves closer, his hand wandering over her belly, up to cup her breast. She murmurs at that, leaning back, a warm weight against him. 

The quiet mood of early morning feels rare and precious. The noise of the Citadel can be too much for him, the crowds and the claustrophobia. Here and now, he has its shelter without its demands. It’s like being inside a bubble of warmth and safety, with Furiosa soft and sleepy in his arms. He goes on stroking her, long caresses over relaxed muscles, lingering where he makes her shiver. 

As he touches her, he can feel goosebumps rising on her skin, her breath speeding up. He buries his face in her shoulder, breathing her in. He needs this, needs her, in ways he couldn’t begin to talk about. He doesn’t know how to say what her trust does to him, her readiness to let her guard down when they’re together.

She pushes back against him, giving a smug little hum when she feels his erection nudging at her buttock. He tucks himself closer against her, letting his cock rest between the cheeks of her bum. She wriggles at that, grinding her hips. He nearly groans at the way she’s rubbing against him. Being loud isn’t dangerous, here. When he’s fresh back from the wastes, he suspects she deliberately sets herself to coax noises out of him, to make him as loud as possible. He can hardly complain. He likes the sounds she makes, likes encouraging her to make more of them. 

He strokes down her hip, following the curve of her buttock to slide his hand between her legs. He’s just petting her, not even parting her lips until she starts to fidget, pushing back against him. Kissing her neck, he presses his fingers further in, still idle and soft. 

They’re lying on their right sides, which is better for his knee, but means he’s stroking left-handed. He works his other arm under her, around her waist, with Furiosa pushing herself up to give him room. She’s trying not to lie too heavily on him, but it’s good to feel the weight of her body, her skin warmer where she’s been snuggled against the mattress. He draws his other hand away to wrap his left arm around her, doing his best not to laugh at the grumpy noise she makes when his fingers leave her cunt.

He nibbles his way up her neck, sucking hard over her brand, gentler when he gets up to her hairline. He lets his right hand move down between her legs, fingers circling and smoothing until she growls. Finding her clit, he starts stroking, very slow and very soft.

It’s so quiet, with the pale light and no sound from outside, no danger, no need to hurry. He can feel her heartbeat, her body getting warmer, slick and wet against his fingers. He knows he’s teasing her, but he doesn’t speed up, doesn’t want to rush any of this. He moves his other hand up to cup her breast, her ribs rising faster as her breath turns to panting.

He works slowly at her, teasing out little whimpers when he presses harder on her clit. She’s shivering now, thrusting at his hand. When she comes, she lets out a long, rough moan, followed by another. He keeps stroking, wanting to keep her just here, right where the orgasm hits her, at the place where she lets go. Once his fingers slow, she arches her neck, turns her head to kiss him.

“Good morning.” Her voice is hoarse. Max holds her tighter. She grinds back against him, as much friction on his cock as she can manage. He gulps, feels her grin. “Come on, then.”

He grips her ribs, holding her steady so he can slide into her. She’s wet and still twitchy around him, giving a little moan when he pushes home. This angle doesn’t give his hips much range of motion, so he thrusts short and deep. He knows he’s got the right spot inside her from the way she clenches around him, tight and gorgeous.

He tries to keep this slow, too, but can't resist speeding up. When he gets his hand back to her clit, he’s firmer than before, past teasing. She wails at it, her hips bucking, so needy that he groans too. He knows he can’t last much longer. 

She’s gasping and writhing under him, abandon in her voice, hanging on tight to his forearm. Her whole body tenses when she comes, a shudder running through her. He tries to keep to his rhythm, fucking her through it.

Furiosa rolls forwards, pulling him with her so that he’s lying over her. He can feel the strength of her muscles as she draws him after her, how frankly she stretches herself out for him. He moves with her but they’re not quite in sync, his cock slipping out of her with a wet squelch. She squirms back against him, insistent and greedy. When he slides back in, she clenches hard, making them both whimper. She’s still gripping his arm; even though he’s wrapped around her, he has a sense of being held.

He can move more from this angle, fucking her harder. She’s moaning, then goes almost silent, pressing up against him. The sound he makes when he comes is raw and noisy, his face against her neck, holding her tight. He feels her quiver again as he finishes. Then she flops, relaxes completely, boneless in his arms.

He’s lying stretched over her, around her, entirely unwound. His body feels meltingly soft, all the tension leaving his muscles, even his knee. Furiosa is coiled up under him, so much power gone gentle and easy. Her skin is flushed, warm under his cheek. He’s still panting, his heartbeat slowing down. 

She shifts under him, nudging him off her before turning to face him. She pushes her leg between his thighs, cushioning his knee, not seeming to care about the mess of come over both of them. Her kiss is very slow and thorough, her hand stroking his chest. 

They get up to wash. After the desert, it seems an impossible luxury, to dip a cloth and stroke it dripping over her body. He doesn’t want to stop, washes her breasts twice and lingers over her thighs until she laughs and takes the cloth. He nuzzles at her neck as she wipes him clean.

“Did you sleep well?” Her tone is conversational, her voice still wrecked. They’re both smiling when he kisses her again. His beard tickles her: he’s been out in the wastes long enough to get a little shaggy. She bites a mouthful of hair and tugs gently.

“Ow,” Max complains. “Got food, if you’re hungry.” She looks over at the desk, letting her hand slide up as her head and shoulders turn. 

“Good.” She gets back into bed, tugging him with her. “Can sleep in.” She reaches down to pull the sheet over them, then cuddles closer, her hand still stroking. 

“Yeah?” He’s surprised: he knows there’s likely to be council business today, and she’d been up to her eyes in an engine when he got back.

“Yes.” She cups his face, her hand on his cheek, and kisses him again. “You,” she tells him, sleepy. “In my bed, safe and sound.” She tucks her head against his shoulder, eyes shut. “Not getting out of it in a hurry.” Max rests his chin on the soft fuzz of her hair, taken aback by her openness. 

It’s still quiet. His body wants to curl up with her, not to fight it, not to worry. The door is locked, keeping out the wastes and the Citadel alike. He kisses the top of her head, and allows himself to go back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
